FOR A METAMORPHOSIS AT WALDEN POND
I suck out the marrow, but may I ask why?
For is it not life that causes me to die?
And if to be awake is indeed to be alive,
Then is to sleep also to die?
I am all alone in this forest
People are hell
I can feel my brittle breath
But cannot see my fragile self
Am I really here?
Because it is so hard to tell
These damned divine woods
Take me further from Hell
--------------------------------------------------
LE MAIRÉAD
She turns my prose into poetry,
Speec…
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Posted on June 24, 2009 at 4:32am —
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